Introduction

Hey. I'm amazed you've stopped to take a peak! I'm sorry to say that my blog is full of negative, atrociously positive, philosophical, or otherwise stupid posts concerning my thoughts, feelings, and every day life. But what the hell! If you think it's great, then I think you're great. Got it?

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Oct 27, 2011

Hondo was a past pet...a magnificent golden retriever with an oblivious stare and a cheerful outlook on life, no matter the situation. It's difficult to express my longing for that dog, because the day we gave him away to a very nice family was the day I decided Hondo would be happier there, than he was with us. He spent cold winters outside, always huddled against the house or against his pen. The dog spent his time with my family by barking at the hot air balloon shaped as a pig and scaring the souls out of joggers.

The first year we had Hondo, we also had Rusty, his brother from the litter. At that time, they were only puppies. I often missed their small puppy form, because they were easier to manage and clean. When Rusty, a completely dominate, impossibly smart creature, was given away to a llama farmer because we couldn't handle it. (Not to mention that dog figured out how to open his own dog pen with his nose...) Hondo was left alone except for the possible play dates presented to him when the neighbors brought over his sisters.

The house I lived in when Hondo was in our possession had a big backyard that was opened to the other two backyards. Neighbor kids always played in our yard and vice versa. For the first few years of having Hondo, all of them, including Jonah who is my age, were scared of the poor dog. He was kept on a chain to prevent running off into the neighborhood since our yard didn't have a fence. The neighbors used the chain to their advantage. Hondo would try to play with them, jump on them, lick their faces, and because they were so scared, they would run away from him and the chain would reach its maximum length and show no mercy to Hondo's neck.

The neighbors and Hondo grew more reasonable as time went on. Soon we got Hondo a super long chain so he could roam further and be happier. The neighbors were no longer scared of him. There were those times when I would go outside under my dad's orders to let Hondo off the chain. When that happened, it was like announcing a bomb. "Hondo's being let off. Get the little ones to a high place."

Kids ran off to safety, the chain was unclipped from his collar, and like a lightning bolt, that dog was gone. I don't think I've ever seen a dog in that neighborhood (which for the record, was inhabited with pet dogs) run as fast as Hondo did. He was like a lightning bolt. It was hard to catch him when we had to. Our methods of lowering him back to his leash was by jingling the choker chain on his leash, or holding some sort of carnivorous substance. Otherwise, he'd think it a game and go hopping along like a rabbit in the woods; flower bed to flower bed, house to house.

He sniffed all kind of things and marked his territories in so many places. They were part of his game. He'd make us think we got him, but if we approached, he would bolt off again, even if he weren't finished with his business.

When Hondo was on the leash, it was a whole other adventure. Before we gave Rusty away, we took the two dogs on walks as often as we could manage, but in order to do so, I had to have an adult with me to manage Rusty. Hondo was incredibly strong, but Rusy was stronger. They were still pups, a year old, and so they were probably at their climax of strength at that point. However, even a few years later, Hondo was still just as strong and even though we had trained him to walk calmly with us in the middle of the street and to not dilly dally on small little plants, I was often caught in surprise with how strong he was.

I had to use my full body weight to hold him back from chasing a (forgive me) damn yapping chihuaha. The smallest of dogs had him bested. He was not the dominate kind. He would freeze where he was, ears perked, and listen to the dog that barked at us in the middle of the street until I was able to drag him away. Other than brief interactions with others of his species, he was a fairly good dog.

On walks I always played a game with him. I would try to grab his tail and sing in a babyish voice, "I got your tail!" Like a mother would to a baby saying, "I got your nose!" He would sit his butt down to the ground defiantly and say with his eyes, "Fine, you got me this time." We would start walking again, and when I would get closer to him, he'd put his butt back down and once again speak through his eyes, "You didn't get me that time!"

He hated the water. Sprinklers scared him, but the hose was worse, for whatever reason. Every time we (being my brothers and I) tried to give him a bath of some kind, he would cower in fear against his pen, trying to get away from us. We simply had to grab the chain and drag him back toward us. When we had him situated to the point where he couldn't go anywhere no matter how hard he tried, he would sit, glowering at me while I put the hose on soft and wetted down his body. The shampooing part he liked more than the water, but in the end, our attempts were in vain.

The minute I signaled he was done, he's shake it out all over me and run back to his cowering spot, where he would roll around in the dirt and grass as if we put some foreign contaminated toxins all over him. The smell must have been too much for his sensitive nose.

Hondo also hated going inside the laundry room on super cold nights. During the winter, we put him in the garage next to the cars so he could be warmer than staying outside in the negative temperatures. Sometimes it could get so cold that we had to put him in the small little hallway that connected the house and the garage; where we put the washer and dryer. It was convienent because it acted as a cage with it's two doors. Hondo, however, hated new things. In the mornings when my dad had to back out the car and get it warmed up, I had to hold Hondo inside the laundry room hallway so he wouldn't run off into the neighborhood again. It was so hard to get him inside. Once he was in, however, he was frozen, yet shaking like an earthquake. Shakes of fear, I take it. It broke my heart to see how scared he was, so I always murmured kind words to him when I sensed he needed it most.

When the garage door came down, I let him go back into the garage, where he felt safer. He didn't even like going into the garage during the winter. My brother's had to use a team of three to get him inside, I had to pull as hard as I could to get him inside. For whatever reason, he was so stubborn as to getting inside the garage. I think it might have been because of the two cars that were inside.

Whenever my dad grilled during the summers, Hondo would sit and bark at my dad to give him a peace offering such as a hotdog or a burger. Our dog was the left-over consumer. If I wanted to lay out in the grass and read, Hondo wouldn't leave me in peace. He would bark until I gave him attention.

So then came the day we gave Hondo away.

I cried. I cried the moment I closed the car door and looked through the window to see him awkwardly sitting on the car's seat. I cried as the car drove away, taking my beloved pet with it.

All that was left of him was his dog pen, his chewed up shoes, and his empty water bowl.

Will I ever get another dog when I'm older? Maybe, but it depends on the situation. I doubt I'll get a big dog like a Golden Retriever, because those dogs are pretty big and hard to deal with. That aside, Golden Retrievers are beautiful creatures. I personally think of them as the prettiest breed of dog I have ever seen, and I've seen a lot. Still, it'd be too much with school and work. I doubt I could ever deal with a little yapping thing, though. Maybe I won't go with a dog, but a pet snake? I've always wanted a pet snake. My future husband might not like it, but he won't have to hold it or feed it.

I know that it's hard to lose a pet you've loved for a long time. Ever since my family moved into this new house, I've felt periodic pangs of sadness. Why? I awake sometimes, thinking it might be my turn to go out into the cold and fill up his water bowl, let him out of the pen, and kiss his furry head good morning.

Oct 26, 2011

I've missed a few days, but that won't stop me! I'm just going to keep on trucking with this blog challenge, right?

So I was sitting in math today, listening to the F of X lecture and the inverses, and I realized that this really does bug me. So much so, that I've been driven to write all about why it bugs me.

First of all, those "geniuses" have made math way too complicated. As a great person told me, "It was fine until numbers started sleeping with letters." I totally agree with that. Worse still, we have to know if it's a function of not when F of G of X is inversed and we have to know what Inverse Identity is. How does this apply to our lives? I mean, seriously.

My teacher also stresses that we've needed a graphing calculator for a while now, and I've been able to get by just fine without one. What's his deal? Who invented graphing calculators? If it was you, I HATE YOU. Just saying.

My ultimate pet peeve in the whole wide world, however, is not my indefinite hate for math, nor a math teacher's logic that doesn't make sense to me, but any popping or cracking of the bodily joints. I've actually expressed my dislike in a different post, but I'll tell you again. I hate it. It gives me the chills just to hear the sound. I don't mind watching if I can't hear...unless it's a gross way to crack it...but if I hear it, I'm about ready to throw up. I have been teased all through English by Ryan and Carlan and I will put my foot down. NO LONGER. Not even Nahuel's neck cracking will penetrate this immovable castle around my ears. (They're actually my hands...but they muffle the sound pretty well.)

It bugs me most when I'm caught off guard and someone just does it out of habit. Even people who sit in front of me in class who do it bug me. I don't hate the person...just the action.

Friends, if you crack your body joints, do so at your own...risk? I don't know, just don't do it near me. I swear I might just throw up on your shoes one day.

Oct 23, 2011

As a good friend of mine has told me, "There is a difference between fears and phobias." Fears are things you don't like, something you can brave, something you can conquer. Phobias are irrational and completely uncontrollable.

For example, one might be scared of spiders. The other might have arachnophobia. The difference between these two friends is that one of them can actually grab a shoe and kill the spider, whilst the other cowers in a corner. There may never be a cure to this phobia for the arachnophobia, but for the friend only fearing spiders, the chances of accepting arachnids in this life are doubled.

What I've discovered about having a phobia of something, is that you don't only hate looking at it, but even thinking about it sends chills up your spine and churns the acids in your stomach.

It by Stephen King turned clowns into something more than scary. I've always thought they were creepy, with their ugly faces and huge feet, but there was just horrific descriptions that sent spidery fingers up my back.

The TV clicked on. She whirled around and saw a clown in a silvery suit with big orange buttons capering around on the screen. There were black sockets where its eyes should have been, and when its made-up lips stretched even wider in a grin, she saw teeth like razors. It held up a dripping, severed head. Its eyes were turned up to the whites and the mouth sagged open, but she could see well enough it was Freddie Firestone's head. The clown laughed and danced. It swung the head around and drops of blood splashed against the inside of the TV screen. She could hear them sizzling in there.

Some may not think that is scary, but the pictures in my head amplify the utter horror that Stephen King tries to demonstrate.

I also hate spiders. So you can only imagine how....freaky this next exerpt is.

The Spider lashed at them with Its legs. Bill felt one of them rip down his side, parting his shirt, parting skin. Its stinger pumped uselessly against the floor. Its screams were clarion-bells in his head. It lunged clumsily forward, trying to bite him, and instead of retreating Bill drove forward using not just his fist now but his whole body, making himself into a torpedo. He ran at Its guts like a sprinting fullback who lowers his shoulders and simply drives straight ahead.

For a moment he felt Its sinking flesh simply give, as if it would rebound and send him flying. With an inarticulate scream he drove harder, pushing forward and upwards with his legs, digging at It with his hands. And he broke through; was inundated with Its hot fluids. They ran across hi face, in his ears. He snuffled them up his nose in thin squirming streams.

He was in the black again, up to his shoulders inside Its convulsing body. And in his clogged ears he could hear as sound like the stead whack-WHACK-whack-WHACK of a big bass drum, the one that leadst eh parage when the circus comes to town with its complement of freaks and strutting capering clowns.

The sound of Its heart.

As you can imagine, Bill smushes the heart as well.

For the first time in a few years, I have a nightmare. I don't like spiders....at all.

Oct 22, 2011

To post about food seems like I'm an American teenager who can't stop thinking about (or eating) food. So what if I just posted a few recipes that people could try, and call it good? Or maybe I could just talk about making food? I honestly don't know how to express this blog post with the topic of "food". Thank you, Emily. I didn't think I'd meet my road block so soon...

I had French Toast made by my brother today. It was okay...It was slightly bland. Just...the same. You know?

I had Kettle Chips today. The flavor made my mouth garlic-y.

All day I've consumed drink after drink of orange juice. Yes, delicious. Orange juice is the best beverage in the world.

Oct 21, 2011

She got down on hands and knees,
One ear against the ground,
Holding her breath to hear something,
But the dirt made not a sound tonight

Echoes of songs still lurk on distant foreign shores,
Where we danced just to please the gods that only ask
for more,
So it goes

But still we give ourselves to this
We can't spend our lives waiting to live

On cold nights
In a prayer for dawn
But the daylight
Isn't what she wants

The concrete
Calls my name again
I'm falling
Through the cracks I slip

The postcard says wish you were here
But I'd rather I was there,
Holding on to the simple things before they disappear,
That's what I meant

But that was then, and this is now
I'll make it up to you somehow

On cold nights
( From: http://www.elyrics.net/read/r/rise-against-lyrics/the-dirt-whispered-lyrics.html )
In a prayer for dawn
But the daylight
Isn't what she wants

The concrete
Calls my name again
I'm falling
Through the cracks I slip

A destination, a fading smile.
Another station, another mile.
Another day gone, I swore that I will.
Be there before dawn.
So be there, I will.

She got down on hands and knees,
One ear against the ground,
Holding her breath to hear something,
Anything at all

The dirt whispered, "Child, I'm coming home"

On cold nights
In a prayer for dawn
But the daylight
Isn't what she wants

The concrete
Calls my name again
I'm falling
Through the cracks I slip

I slip

(Through the cracks I slip)

Through the cracks I slip
Through the cracks I slip

My last song I posted up was "Lips of an Angel" and I decided it'd be fun to post up another one of my favorite songs. "The Dirt Whispered" by Rise Against has seized my heart and won't let go. I love Rise Against so much! So here you are, a good song, and probably more will come from them. Enjoy!

It's hard to remember back to those horrific days of being an awkward, early adolescent. My body was not yet developed to look even the slightest bit attractive. It was more blocky and pudgy than anything else, because at that point in my life, I hated exercise. I felt as though it was the most devilish thing on the planet, now that bedtime had been accepted fully since I was four. Even though I hated exercise, I hated my body more, because I felt overweight and unattractive. I didn't have issues talking to boys as long as I had a jacket hiding my core.

The jacket was my tool to surviving seventh grade. That year girls were either stick skinny with a flat chest or rounded in the middle with little golf balls for breasts. I had to repeatedly tell myself all year that every girl felt self-conscious--even the skinny girls. I remember hating my hair color as well. Makeup looked bland on me, since I didn't know how to use makeup then, and my hair just laid on my head like a mop. Sure, I learned to curl with my straightener, but I didn't have hairspray, so the curls just petered out of existence by the end of the day.

I had the best of friends an awkward seventh grader could have. From fifth grade to eighth, they were my buddies and I did everything with them. Sleepovers, Trick-or-Treating, birthday parties, Christmas carols during the summer, and even chalking in the middle of the night. (The middle of the night is what we call "after sunset" and stretched to 11:00 PM before we got tired.) Chalking was almost like TP-ing someones house, but in this case it was with sidewalk chalk and involved the neighbor's driveway. We didn't dare draw out vulgar words in case we might get caught, so we just drew weird designs and words like "WEEE!" on the driveways.

There were some drawbacks to this bunch of friends. First of all, McKenzie was one I looked up to (Down to, since she was shorter than all of us.) and worshipped in a sense. No, I wasn't in complete awe when I saw her walk into the room, but I sure admired her. She was flexible, did a lot of gymnastics and tumbling, and jumped around without a care in the world. If she got hurt, she'd shrug it off. It was like she didn't even feel any pain, and I was amazed by it. She just had one of those personalities that you really loved or really hated. There was a lot of conflict at times, but there was more love than anything else. It was either her or McKaela who gave me the nickname "Minnie" that year.

Stephanie was more on the quieter side. "Stephie" was her ultimate nickname, and she didn't mind it. She had her own personality when we were away from McKenzie and McKaela. Nothing really embarrassed her and she hardly ever cried. She was strong too. Maybe I'm just a weakling or something, but she could have me pinned down in a heart beat. Steph was the one who walked with me to school every morning when carpooling was out of the question.

McKaela probably understood me the best. It was these years that my parents started looking past the mormon church, and I began thinking deeply on things. McKaela goes to morning Mass and a Tongan church with her grandmother sometimes. She understood. McKaela and I had a lot of fun when it was just us two having a sleepover. We both liked to play with her Bratz dolls, despite our age. Other than my jackets, I think McKaela was the other leverage I had to getting through seventh grade. She wasn't stick skinny like Stephanie and McKenzie. She was more like me (not fat, just a little above average) and it made me feel so much more normal and human. Even today, I still admire her amazing singing voice.

The adventures I've had with these three friends were wild (in our minds) and crazy, but I think Halloween Nights were the most interesting. I spent two out of three Halloween nights with them in McKenzie's basement. Two years in a row we would Trick or Treat around their neighborhood and then end up in McKenzie's basement trading candies and choosing a scary movie to watch. We always played Hide and Seek in the dark.

The basement room down on the "sixth level" didn't have any windows. It was where her family some things they don't have room for upstairs and had a door connecting to the storage room. The lights down there could be dimmed or completely turned off so that no matter what time of day it was, we were shrouded in a veil of blackness. Except for the TV down there and it's electronic devices with small red or green dots, we couldn't see a thing in our path. We would hide somewhere in the throng of items that cluttered the room and then turn off the lights. The seeker would have to crawl around and try to find us behind couches or on top of boxes or under blankets. Once found, their blind hands would poke and prod you until you gave in and said "Yeah, you found me." I was almost always found first, so I tended to be the seeker a lot.

One Halloween night we had our candy out and we were chowing down on the goods while thinking about a movie to watch. We decided it would be fun to play "hide and seek in the dark" before we turned on a scary movie to get our minds into the mood (not that we weren't already there).

It was easy to set up. Set our candy aside, take off any objects of our costumes that would get in the way, and let the seeker go out for twenty seconds while they found their hiding spots. Once the seeker came in, she would have her eyes closed and would turn the lights off herself so she could begin to find the other girls. Sometimes it was nerve wracking to sit out in the open and watch the seeker come in. Often times I felt as though she might be looking right at me, even though her hand was over her eyes. The darkness that loomed in when she turned the lights off comforted me completely. Who would have thought?

There was one moment when I decided to just sit in the middle of the room and see how long it would take the seeker to find me. I ended moving around like a ninja and felt awesome, until the lights came on and saw where McKenzie was hiding. She was on top of the treadmill, crunched into a little ball with her back pressed against the low ceiling. I was absolutely stunned, but not entirely surprised. She was quite the monkey.

I watched Poltergeist for the first time at her house. We were having a sleepover, so when the movie was over, we were all snuggled deep in our blankets with wide eyes.

Sleepovers didn't mean sleeping. It meant staying up super late.

It was probably around one in the morning when we were finished with Poltergeist and we all wanted to play a game, so we decided on Curses which sat in a yellow box underneath the TV. Since Poltergeist had a creepy static-y TV in it, we voted McKenzie ( The brave one) to approach the TV and rip Curses from its grasp. She took several crawling steps forward, and the TV cupboards squealed. It made us all scream like a banshee. It probably took us fifteen minutes to calm our hearts. After that, we just ate candy and avoided touching the Curses game box.

I miss them a lot, but I realize now that the friends I have now are just easier to deal with. There was a lot of seventh and eighth grade drama that involved my little group of friends, and by ninth grade, I took refuge in Kaylynn's friendship.

It wasn't until a few weeks ago that I realized I don't need a best friend, especially one that thinks I've changed and doesn't want to be my friend anymore. I don't need a best friend, but I certainly need friends. If one friend doesn't cut it, I can go to another one. That's how it went with my early adolescent friends, but I still miss them dearly. I say hi to them in the hallways all the time, but I can't help but feel far away and detached.

Oct 20, 2011

I vaguely have a reminisce of what once used to be. Or maybe that's just my psychotic mind going into overload from using such complex vocabulary words today.

This challenge for my first day ties in perfectly to correspond with the book I'm reading. It by Stephen King is mainly about the pasts of the main characters and a clown. We'll forget about the dastardly clown and focus on the grownups and their childhoods. My childhood certainly isn't as horrific as Bill Denbrough's was, but it certainly was oblivious and innocent. Too innocent.

I was a very hesitant little girl back then. I was the "passive" one, as some might put it. I do not disagree with it. When a friend of mine would want to go somewhere we shouldn't go, I'd be too scared, and I would back out. I was always conscious of the fact that I could be caught and then punished. Maybe even go to little girl prison in Las Vegas where all the other bad little girls were.

Because of this deficiency, I wasn't a very fun kid to be around.

I was such a goodie-two-shoes that I lost friends because they went down the "path of evil". During which time, I was mormon, so I was very particular about what was evil and what was good. For instance, the day I threw rocks at poor little Peter under the influence of Kaylynn, I cried while overwhelmed with guilt. Kaylynn just shrugged it off. It was then that my little sixth grader mind put Kaylynn under the evil category. Between the years of sixth grade and eighth grade, I hadn't talked to her much.

That was only getting a point across. The childhood story of the day is still on it's way. I'll be honest with my readers. I've typed only about my childish personality, not about an event, because I am completely at a loss as to which childhood event I would write about. My childhood was very boring. Most potent are the memories I share with my cousin, but those are confidential and strictly forbidden to the internet world. Why I would mention it at all in this post is beyond my reckoning.

My imagination was its own adventure. The thoughts and ideas I've had in my head as a little girl were mostly fantasies larger than my heart, which at that time, were very large. I'd like to point out that my heart was very big. When I ran around, I'd get tired because my heart would pump quickly and it would scare me. I sometimes thought I was having a heart attack. I've never liked playing Tag with the other children.

The biggest adventure I've probably had might make your heard spin with complete boredom, but that's alright. At least it's a story. I'll spice it up if I must.

Bedtime had become my enemy when I turned four. When I felt a rush of excitement and had to go to bed, my only reasonable response was to complain. I always thought the next day was going to hold some drastic event that might make me hate waking up the next time around.

This particular night was the night before Tyler's third birthday, and my mother had made a Sesame Street cake to honor the big day. Cake + Mindy = Fire. Just remember that equation. It's very vital to the story.

Father put me to bed, but Father didn't tell his usual bedtime story to me, or killed off the gruesome monsters that inevitably lurked in my closet. That resulted in a very restless night. I don't remember the dream I might have had, if I had any that night, but I do rememeber the want for that cake downstairs. It wasn't a want to eat it, per se, but to put candles on it ahead of time so Mommy would be proud of me. Maybe even light them while they were in the refrigerator. Whatever I wanted, I wanted it. And badly.

So I awoke very early in the morning. It was as if I were a ghost, slowly and surely taking the stairs one step at a time. Baby David was still sleeping, as was toddler Tyler in the bunk bed. The parents were still sound asleep in their lovely master bedroom as well. It was only me, and my desire to see the cake alight with candles.

I cannot say why Father left the matches on the counter. I cannot speak his mind. However, I can say how I got to those candles. Even through the scraping of the wooden chair to the counter, Mommy and Father did not wake. I simply climbed up, grabbed the matches, and waddled over to the refrigerator. I remember the magnetic door being harder to pull open than usual, but maybe it was because I was so giddy with anticipation.

I saw the blue cake with its Sesame Street characters sitting on its shrine high above my head. I could feel that cold breeze emenate from the refrigerator. I had chills of happiness. A garbage sack, already sinched tight and ready to be taken out, sat next to the counter and in the way of my chair, but I propped the refrigerator door open with the chair and managed to reach the cake anyway.

I did not climb on the chair though. Instead, I thought it best to light the match like Father always did first, and them climb on and light the cake.

When I dragged the candle across the surface of the match box, nothing happened. It took my stubby little fingers three tries before I was able to light the match, and when I did, all hell broke loose in my mind.

I must have seen the devil in that flame. The way it sprouted with life scared the living soul out of my four year old body, and my fingers dropped the match. It landed in the crevice between the garbage sack and the counter. There, it began to burn.

Smoke rose up, and so did my girlish little scream of horror.

I clearly remember Mommy and Father running down the stairs in alarm when the fire alarms went off. They both were asking me what happened in their adultish tones, with a tinge of panic to it, and putting out the fire with wet rags.

Looking back at this traumatic moment in my life, I finally realize where it is that I've gotten my phobia of house fires, fire, and fire alarms. This girl is not a pyromaniac.

I spent fifteen minutes trying to figure out how to comment on a friend's blog post, and ended up letting Blogger beat me. Apparently my google account isn't allowed to view her page, let alone comment on it, so I've lost. Now that I can't post this hilarious comment I was going to post, I've decided that I'll just write a blog post in dedication to my friend Emily who blogs just like me.

"Blogs, just like me," sounds nerdy. I'm proud to be a nerd!

Anyway, Emily J. from Emily J's Pearls of Wisdom had a blog post about a 17-Day blog Challenge that I believe she came up with on her own. My assumptions to her originality is only because of what I will copy and paste following this very sentence below.

The 17-Day Blog Challenge((copyrighted by Emily Juchau. If you copy and paste without citing me, evil gnomes will kill you in your sleep on Christmas, so watch it, buddy))

1. A Childhood Memory

2. An Early Adolescent Memory

3. Food. (I don't really know why this is on the challenge....I guess I just think that everyone needs to blog about food every once in a while. It's part of being a healthy, well-balanced individual. Haven't you heard of that one Julia Roberts movie?)

4. Phobias.

5. Pet Peeves.

6. Pets.(past, present, and future.)

7. Sports.

8. Twilight.(I will accept both the book series and the time of day.)

9. Zeitgeist ((the spirit of the times))

10. A day entirely in photos. (And if you don't have a camera, you should probably emmigrate from whatever obscure island on which you are located to a place with a Wal-Mart and disposable Kodak cameras.)

11. How you would rule the world.....

12. Is the glass half-empty or half-full? (From your perspective, not the perspective of the drug lord in your Ceramics class....)

13.The rules of manhood (Only if you are a woman. If you're a man and want to do the challenge, express your views on the "rules of womanhood." Don't take this as an opportunity to be sexist. Take this as an opportunity to tell the opposite sex exactly what they ought to be doing to be awesome.)

14. Hero(es)

15. Wheel of Time!!!!!! (if you don't read Wheel of Time, choose a different book series that you're familiar with. I'll also accept movies such as Star Wars. The only requirement is that it has to be "epic," although you'll be hard-pressed to find anything approaching the epicness of Wheel of Time.)

16. 95 Theses (this doesn't necessarily have to be religious, although you can interpret it that way. Historically the 95 Theses were Martin Luther's arguments against the traditions of Catholicism, but in this case, the 95 Theses can be about anything you choose. 95 things you like. 95 things you hate. 95 reasons why curling is a better sport than football. Use your imagination.)

17. The zombie apocalypse, and your escape plan thereof.

THUS I ISSUE THIS CHALLENGE TO ALL BLOGGERS WORLD-WIDE....COMPLETE YOUR TASK WITH EXACTNESS AND DEDICATION AND....STUFF....

It looked so fun to do! I just had to do it! I promised her mentally that I would give her full credit for it so I won't be attacked by evil gnomes on Christmas...that wouldn't be fun.

Her blog reminds me of Hyperbole and a Half, where Allie Brosh's little childhood adventures are just like Emily's. They both put awesome vocabulary words and sarcasm to make the lame adventures seem just plain awesome. Kudos Emily!

Because I'm a nerd, I want to start on this blog challenge today. Meaning, I get to write all about a childhood memory. I won't start it in this blog post, because I'm just very OCD and lame like that.

Oct 19, 2011

They make me wish I were an only child. Yes, you'll use elimination and finally realize that I'm speaking of my younger brothers, rather than of anything else that I may call "brats" once in a while. Fact of the matter is, school was absolutely fun and cheerful for me, because I got to see my friends and live out the last day of the week (because UEA fall break is Thursday and Friday). You all know there is a catch, however. Why else would I be divulging my wildly rocketing emotions in blog form? No, by the time I got home, I didn't have a five minute break of being home alone like I usually do (considering I get home around 3:00PM and the others get home around 3:05PM) and ended up walking into the garage with David. I doubt that's the reason why, but my mood plummeted. It might be because I realized I have to spend a whole weekend with the likes of them. Either way, I came home to a mess. I checked my email after I got home, and decided to start on my heinous chore of hand washing the dishes. It was at that point that I realized how grotesquely "hobo-ish" the house was beginning to look. (I'm not kidding. It was a huge mess.) There was clothes and shoes and backpacks strewn about the room. Not only that, but there was painter's tape stuck in the carpet, scraps of crumbled, ripped, and shredded paper in various places of the living room and family room and kitchen. Toys. There were toys everywhere. I do not claim that sentence as a fallacy, because it was true. There were toys all over the house.

I wouldn't describe this horrific scene to you if I didn't have a conclusion. Because I had to get dishes done, I took my time on them. I wiped down the walls around the sink and everything: something I usually forget to do. I swept effeciently. My reason for making the kitchen sparkle was mainly because I didn't want my parents to be in a pissy mood when they came home. (It worked.) I have an OCD problem when it comes to cleaning though. It's odd that my OCD kicked in on a day that I was sore and hurting and frustrating and pissy. I ended up turning on the vacuum while my brothers were on the floor playing and firmly saying, "You got one minute before I vacuum up all your crap." The threat worked beautifully. They were jumping around like grasshoppers shoving things into their arms and transporting them (mostly) to where the items belonged. I lied though. I turned the vacuum on thirty seconds after my declaration and the youngest, Ryan, began to cry about how his toys were going to be vacuumed if he didn't hurry. I told him to "hurry then".

I was extremely shocked when they still insisted on doing a half-assed job about cleaning, even after I explicitly told them to pick everything up from the kitchen floor. I had to tell the youngest boys four times to pick up. I'd rather not think about Tyler's complete ignorance of my wishes (by that point, they were beginning to turn into commands, since technically, I was in charge). He just sat like the lazy couch potato he is and read "without hearing me". I told him twice to put his backpack in his bedroom. Instead, he just sets it on the couch next to him. Yes, that definitely helps me extract my vision of a spotless living room. Thank you, Tyler.

My parents got home just after I started vacuuming the family room. It irritated me that I couldn't get it done before they got home. I mean irritated me. I honestly expected to feel elated and pleased with myself when my parents gave me praise for cleaning without being told to. Instead, I just felt numb. Eric was the only (bless his soul) one who helped me clean, and for that, I try not to snap at him too much.

I think my pet peeve of the day, however, was picking up the never ending flood of papers that were associated with Ryan's stupid little first grader papers. I'm quite concerned he might have lost his homework while I cleaned today, but at the same time, I feel no sympathy for him. There was so many bolded two-digit numbers being added by single-digit numbers that flooded by vision during that time, that I most nearly screamed my head off. Every paper I lifted, I yelled at Ryan to come to me and tell me whether it was important. "Is this homework?" "No..." I would viciously crumple the paper and throw it away. I believe I found a notebook's worth of paper that just went to waste. Trees: I feel no sympathy for them. They have a nucleus, but they have no feelings.

I took my rest. I accomplished 74 long pages with tiny font of Stephen King's novel It. I experienced what it might be like to be a psychopath that killed his baby brother because he was worried his parents might love the baby more, and I finally read the last bit of the main character's childhood. I feel good and accomplished, and after I finish that section, I put my ironically clownish-looking Joker Card in to mark my page number. All I wanted was to get some computer time, and my brother's technically aren't supposed to play computer games on the computer, so I asked to get online and email my friend. I didn't lie, it was a true fact. I had to email journalism notes for mine and my partner's first articles. It's just that I used a divergent and went to Facebook and Goodreads to let off some steam.

Mom does it with her computer time, so why can't I?

Ah but no. Those little brats--namely Tyler and David--decide to get mad at me for getting on the computer. I've stopped playing Facebook games, and they go on accusing me that I'm playing "computer games" when in actuality, I'm typing and reading and following up socially online. David is a clever little punk sometimes. He tends to sit somewhere where I don't realize he's sitting, and watch what I'm doing. The minute I exit out of my email account and go to goodreads, he accuses me immediately. "You said you were only emailing! What's your problem?!"

Oh just shoot me now and save me the pain of relaying this gruesome side of me. It just pushed me over the edge. I immediately fired off the projects I've done for school, the studying I've done to earn me my A's for this closing term, and the stress I've gone through to get the house nice for our parents. Apparently it wasn't good enough for him. He looked at me like the little snot he was with this look of smug indifference. "So?" He merely asked. I had to explain to him that I certainly wasn't playing computer games, and neither was he. I also pointed out that I had just read for three hours straight and that I wanted a break from it. "So?" he asked, since he's such a damned little reader himself. "It is a 1,000 page book with small print and big words. Shut up." Oh but he doesn't. He decides it best to just match my attack by saying Lord of the Rings was probably more pages and just as hard.

I'll be honest with you. I'm a pretty tolerant person. Any other day, I'd laugh along with him and say "Yep, you got me." Today wasn't an ordinary day. My friends have assured me that I haven't changed in a bad way, as my slowly-pulling-away-best-friend says I have, but I've changed for the better. I've been happier more, especially with the start of this year. My theory is that kind of happiness doesn't last forever. There's bound to be bad days, and those bad days have caught up to me real quick. Fact of the matter, I was like this yesterday. If Fitness hadn't left me jello-legged and exhausted, I probably would have gone running today as I had yesterday when I was feeling angry. I'm convinced that running makes me happier, even though it didn't work yesterday.

So anyway, I've gotten to the point where I tell him to go away and leave me alone. I turned back to the computer, prepared to ignore anyone else who dares to challenge me with this issue.

Thirty seconds after David leaves, Tyler comes up behind me and suddenly explodes in a rant about how I wasn't emailing my friend, I was on Goodreads. His words were wasted, the end. Ignoring him worked out well. After a few seconds of yelling to no prevail, he left. That was when I wrote up my Facebook status and decided to type out the day's events in a blog post that is only somewhat organized with punchy text and complaint-filled words like "heinous".

Oct 10, 2011

I'm supposed to "choose" between two sweet sixteens that are both occuring on the same day and at the same time. I'm obviously going with Kaeli's, since Maddy is admittedly very annoying and not nearly as close. I feel bad for the girl. I mean, as far as I know, she was going to have everyone wear their costumes to her party.

What am I being for Halloween? You guessed it! A vampire. Yes, it's classical and cliche after all this vampire epidemic with Stephanie Meyer, but I'm doing it. I haven't been a vampire yet, and I decided that I'm really excited to put on fake fangs and do some elegant makeup work. I get to wear a black dress, and I'm planning on spiking my hair in some way to make it look kick-ass cool. I might even convince my mom to let me borrow her sexy black boots. :D

Basically what it boils down to is: I love Halloween! It's my favorite holiday. Not for the candy, but because of the potential paranormal horror that goes on and all the costumes and orange-and-black-themed parties! It's so exciting! Picnik has already put up their Halloween touches for picture-editing. I'm sure you can guess what I've done!

It's the true, ugly me! Just kidding! I had too much fun with the "zombifying" tool. I'm pretty much excited about my costume for only one thing: The Makeup. I've gotten pretty good with my makeup, if you ask me, thanks to my Beloved (Not-really) Aunt Almond. :D

As you can see, my eyes are goregous. :P Don't let your self esteem plummet or anything. I get to do black eye shadow for Halloween, and I just realized that I might want to even try for colored contacts, maybe? Maybe. Depends on how elaborate my mom will go with me on my costume, and/or if I get paid enough soon.

I know I've been a wizard and a witch and a princess and a freakish female version of Joker for Halloween before. I was a devil baby...when I was a baby. :P I think my brother was a pumpkin and a fat man. OH! I was a Die once! Die as in singular for Dice? Yes. Then that same halloween the box became too bulky to go up porches, so I became just a ghost, since I had white sweats on. In my past halloween years, I've seen a lot of legos. A lot. Of legos. It must have been the big thing, you know?

Now, I know I might be a little old for trick or treating, but honestly? If I go with friends, who would care, right? It might even be fun. Or we can just have a party, which admittedly sounds more sane for people our age...though the parties might get a little insane.

Anyway, what's your halloween going to be like? What are YOU planning on being for halloween?

Meet Me

You should Know...

I have a lot of inspirations and motivations, and I've listed them before. The problem is that they change a lot. One minute I want to be a doctor, the other I want to skip school entirely and travel the world. I'm unpredictable, I'm restless, I'm a Sagittarius. What can you do?

There's no way around the excruciating pain of living an ordinary life. Most days I just breathe and do what I am expected to do. There&...

We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars.- Oscar Wilde

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We write to taste life twice, in the moment and in retrospect.-Anais Nin

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"If one cannot enjoy reading a book over and over again, there is no use in reading it at all."- Oscar Wilde

"He who stands for nothing will fall for anything."- Alexander Hamilton

"Whenever I see an old lady slip and fall on a wet sidewalk, my first instinct is to laugh. But then I think, what if I was an ant, and she fell on me. Then it wouldn't seem quite so funny."- Jack Handey